Threads
Chapter 8
Eirene woke with a start.
Her eyes flickered open and took a moment to recognize her surroundings as her eyes got used to the dark.
It was her own chamber, with a cascading show of smoke from a dying fireplace, and nothing but cinders at the bottom. She lay on her bed, still clothed with riding garments. She tried to move her hands, but they were chained onto one another. Her feet were unbound, however.
She stood slowly, feeling dizzy at the movement. She felt something liquid trailing down her head; with effort, she touched her temple and drew her fingers to where she could see them. Crimson liquid was at her fingertips.
She tried to recall what had happened. The soldiers that ambushed her had covered their faces, but she remembered recognizing the eyes of some of them; one or two soldiers that were usually patrolling the outskirts of the city and General Glozelle.
Glozelle had been her father's favorite military advisor, and had even been a friend. He was the one who constantly tried to pull her father out of the grief after the queen, Eirene and Caspian's mother, had died.
General Glozelle was the one, who in memory of Caspian IX, trained Eirene in sword fighting once her little brother had gone missing, too. He was the one who always insisted in providing Eirene with several guards to accompany her, rather than ladies-in-waiting.
All of which of course, was done without her uncle Miraz's knowledge.
"You are the only remaining member of the royal family, princess. Fate rests upon your shoulders your highness, you need to be protected. I'll assign a handful of my best men—"
Eirene had always scoffed at that, perhaps because of disbelief with a lace of arrogance. Every time he said something of the sort, she would reply with the same thing, echoing the words Professor Cornelius spoke to her on that fateful night.
"They'll never harm me. Caspian was prince. He was in danger and now he's safe…"
"Princess, I must insist—"
Most days she would just let it go, but the last time he had said that to her she found it in her to pick a fight.
"Perhaps Caspian is the one who had to be protected, where were your guards, then?" she had asked him defiantly.
General Glozelle didn't reply, bowing his head to the Princess.
"I'm sorry to have offended your grace—"
"I don't need to be worried for, I don't need to be protected. I can protect myself."
That was how she had dismissed the general that last time they had spoken. It had been only a fortnight ago.
She furrowed her brow at the memory. Why would Glozelle be trying to protect her one day and ambushing her the next? It didn't make sense. Nothing did.
Eirene moved up towards door, attempting to open it. But of course, it was locked. Was it house arrest?
She then moved towards the curtained window. It was dusk and the sun was just setting beyond the horizon; she did not know for how long she had been unconscious.
In that moment, the bells began tolling through the castle and the city, although she did not know the reason behind it. She breathed in, starting to feel the ache in her head. Night fell, and the shadows brought with them the echoes of the bells. Indeed, her entire skull felt about to implode.
Unable to massage her temples due to a chained set of hands, the most comfort she could bring herself was to close her eyes. She closed them and tightened them as much as she could, displaying colored twinkles that tinted the darkness inside her head.
The bells still tolled and the twinkles became infested with memories.
The loneliness, the eyes of the ambushers, and a single striking pair of dark eyes. Eyes that fit under a populated furrowed brow, and under a set of curly and disheveled hair. Edmund Pevensie.
The King of the Old Age, one of four siblings that should have appeared when wee Caspian blew Queen Susan's horn, all those years ago. Would things have been different? Would there still be a fight for the throne, or would Caspian have it secured by now? Would he have appeared as a younger version of himself, around the start of the Pevensie Dynasty, when they were crowned? Or would he have reappeared as he was now, like the illustrations of the golden age, depicting a tall, dark and brooding Just King?
Eirene opened her eyes after her own thoughts caught her off guard.
But it didn't matter what would have happened if he, if they had come all those years ago. What mattered was that he was here now— and in any case, he had been with her during the ambush. He had fought alongside her, he had even shouted her name, warning her.
Where was he now? Perhaps he was a prisoner too, perhaps he had escaped. She hoped for the latter.
Eirene hadn't noticed at what exact time the bells had stopped, but when she acknowledge soothing silence, the moon was high up on the sky.
No one had knocked on her door. Not her ladies, not the guards, nothing. All the while her chimney still brought slow waves of smoke. She coiled herself around a blanket, taken from her unmade bed. Nights were getting progressively colder.
She waited for her headache to subside and for drowsiness to come. The first did, after some hours. The second, never at all.
She turned towards the interior of her room; at least everything had remained untouched. She looked over at her books and her heart ached. From the darkness she could make out the spine of the Narnian tales she had been reading Caspian on that night.
Eirene reached for it without a second thought, the chains sounding at her every move. She smiled faintly when she opened the book, the pages with the same silky feeling. She moved towards the window, using the moon's light to guide her through the lines.
She read, trying to ignore the bubbly feeling that came to her whenever she read Edmund's name. It felt weird knowing someone who, to all intents and purposes, was a historical figure. It felt weird to see the real person behind the legends that got plastered in books. Unreal, even.
Still, she read and read, trying to keep away the nagging questions. She'd had enough time to ask every single one of them when someone actually acknowledged her existence. When she broke away from her shackles.
Minutes or hours later, she couldn't make sense of time anymore, her gaze wandered over the castle courtyard. Lights flickered in the distance, and Eirene watched them until their color merged with the one in the sky. The blood that had emanated from her temple was now coagulated and dry. The darkness receded and showed a brazen sunrise.
She barely had any more time left to gather a more permanent picture of the sunrise in her memory before the sound of the bolt to her door being opened distracted her. Immediately, she stood from her desk, shedding the blanket onto the floor. When the door opened, she had to squint her eyes to make up for the blinding incoming light.
"Princess Eirene, you have been requested by the Lord protector Miraz at the Council of the Lords. Please come with us," a guard said.
Miraz, of course.
She should have thought of that earlier; she'd always known her uncle was a conniving politician, and that he carried power-lust eyes, but never would she had expected him to plot against her.
As she walked towards the Council of the Lords, a whole company of men behind her, as if she was the worst criminal, she wanted to turn back time. How foolish of her, to think Cornelius was right: they'll never harm you.
She had trusted the words of a man she hadn't seen for what felt like a million years more than reality. When she was a kid, of course he wouldn't harm her. What threat could a girl pose to Miraz? He was already protector of the crown, and Eirene, even though she was a princess, could not reasonably be turned into the automatic heir.
But time went by, and Eirene had been too foolish to think the things would remain eternal. She was past of age now, she'd been quietly growing in friends at court. She was the spitting image of her father, she'd been told. The dynasty was as alive as it had never been, not since her father died and little Caspian left. Underestimating her power-hungry uncle had been her biggest mistake yet.
It became clear that it was past the point of no return when the doors of the council were opened, and Miraz stood in front of the monarch's throne. She turned her head to meet the gaze of the rest of the Lords; some of them confused, others with spite in her eyes. But none were friendly.
The tale spun by Miraz must have been excellent, then, she thought.
The guards left her in the middle of the room, still with the shackles on. The door closed behind, creaking all the way through. After, there was only silence. Eirene looked at her uncle, waiting.
"Why is the girl in chains?!" one of them shouted, causing uproar. Miraz wasted no more time.
"Princess Eirene," he pronounced, hissing and tightening his jaw, "you stand here, in front of all of us, accused of treason."
The sentence immediately intensified the murmurs amongst the lords, all of which were incomprehensible. Miraz tapped on his foot impatiently and walked closer to her, cherishing the chaos, although he fought hard not to let it show.
"May I know the reason why you are charging me with such an unfair offense?" Eirene said, loud and clear, hurrying to get to the point. Miraz chuckled.
"My dear lords," Miraz began, circling Eirene while addressing the rest of the room, completely changing his tone of voice "I have fought my better judgement and tried to fight the necessity to convene you here…"
His footsteps stopped around Eirene left side, and Eirene was able to make his silhouette out of the corner of her eye. Miraz grabbed his face in faked frustration, and she had a hard time believing anyone else would fall for the dramatic act. He shook his head once again.
"All of our honorable Telmarine lords, gathered here today, know our laws perfectly well. We know that only admissible line of succession is through the male members of the royal family. It is precisely because of that that we have never, never, stopped searching for Prince Caspian—"
Eirene listened to his words, she knew the lies behind it. He had never looked for Caspian. The only search parties ever sent lasted about four days after the incident.
"—but it seems, my Lords, that our once honorable princess has…" Miraz paused for more of an effect and walked where he could see her, "…given up on the hopes of finding her brother, and instead chose to seek power for herself!"
Miraz pointed his finger at Eirene, his eyes widening as the uproar in the room began once more. Eirene mouth dropped open.
"I did no such thing—my lords, you must—" she began quickly, but the noise was too loud for her voice to be significantly heard.
"Silence, child. You'll speak in your own time," Miraz said, loud enough for her to hear, but mute to everyone else.
Miraz gestured for the rest of the lords to simmer down for a moment to proceed with his tale.
"Ten years since our crown-prince disappeared and two days after my firstborn came into the world, Princess Eirene indented to sneak an assassin into the castle walls! Targeting Lady Prunaprisma, my son and her own lord protector! She'd have me murdered in cold blood and seize a throne that isn't rightfully hers!"
Eirene could feel her face redden with anger, and her limbs shaking with rage.
"My lords!" she spat, thundering the shackles purposefully.
"Would you believe the lies concocted by this man, more than you would believe your princess!? He has me in chains! He is lying to you!"
More uproar. The lords started to rise from their seats, moving about, shouting to each other.
"Aye! Miraz has been after the crown for ages!" a lord screamed from within the crowd.
"It is a well known fact!" someone else screamed.
More shifts, screams and footsteps. Eirene saw the scene unfolding before her eyes with horror.
"Miraz has been the one ruling us all this time! Why would he be lying?!" Another lord's voice perforated the commotion.
Eirene's eyes were opened wide and her breath grew heavier and heavier. She turned to Miraz, his mouth sampled a smirk.
"I have proof!" her uncle said, turning his face grim once more.
The heavy wooden doors opened once again, and in came two guards holding a hooded man. Eirene's heart shrank.
"This is the man she tried to sneak within our walls! A cold-blooded killer!"
The guards threw the man to Eirene's feet, landing on his side. Eirene gasped, and wanted to kneel next to him an uncover his face.
Please, don't let it be Edmund—
Miraz was the one who knelt and jerked on the hood of the prisoner.
It revealed the face of a scrawny commoner, probably taken from the south side of the city. Eirene let out a sigh of relief, and she heard Miraz scoff. Eirene swallowed, trying to hide all emotion.
Still, rage boiled at the very core of her being.
Then, there was a loud metal clang next to her; she turned around and saw Rhindon on the floor.
"That was to be the murder weapon! Some sort of Narnian relic—" Miraz said, disgusted.
Eirene walked towards the tribunes by the sides, where all of the lords were.
"My lords! You've known me for all my life—would you think me capable of something like this?!" Eirene pleaded. Some lords turned their faces away from her, disgusted too. Others were simply stupefied, trying to understand what was going on. But none showed a sympathetic response.
"Please! Let me speak—" but Eirene's plead was ignored.
"We all know she has always been fond of the childish nonsense and the fictitious notion of magic. Would you be willing to stand and watch your beloved princess take power while delusional? Would you allow your princess to claim the throne through treason? Would you?!" Miraz roared.
The lords shouted after Miraz's claims.
"No! You can't let her!"
"Treason!"
"Miraz should be king!"
"He has an heir!"
"Make him king!"
At the last comments, Miraz held his head high.
"I've only ever wanted what was best for the realm!" he said, returning to the steps of the empty throne.
Eirene's feet felt leaden as she walked towards her uncle. Her ears adverted her of the guards following her behind. Fury fueled her.
She was only a few feet away from him before she was held down by the shoulders. She pressed forward, but she was being pulled back. She craned her neck and spat on his shoes. Miraz laughed.
"Don't you see I'm in chains? What harm could I ever do to you—" the guards still pressed her backwards.
"Take her away—I figure your chambers are comfortable enough to prepare a defense before the trial."
"Trial! How could you—" she spat, wrestling against the guards' grip. "You'll have your own niece framed to claim the throne you so desperately wanted to snatch away from my father?!" the guards unhanded her, the room fell silent at her scream and she stood in the room, heaving.
She looked at her uncle, and then she panned the room. Miraz' mouth was slightly open; he'd always considered her a child, but in that moment, he realized he was a woman, the spitting image of her father. And he had infuriated her.
"All of you served under my father. Have watched me grow up. If you are to believe for one second what my uncle is saying the truth—" Eirene struggled with her words for a second, "—he's weaved lies around me—but all you've done is stand idly by. And if you do believe him, maybe you are no better than this cheat."
Eirene spun around the room, looking into the eyes of every single person in it.
"Claim him your king, but the crown, the real crown will never forget."
Eirene turned to look at her uncle again, and slowly, soft whispers resumed.
"We'll see you at the trial, princess." Miraz gestured the guards to hold her again.
Eirene walked away willingly.
They'll never harm you, Professor Cornelius could not have been more wrong.